The Complete Northanger Horrid Novel Collection (9 Books of Gothic Romance and Horror)

by Eliza Parsons

  Laurette heard not the latter part of the sentence, for she had fainted; the assurance that Enrico would be involved in her misfortunes, to whom he certainly alluded, quite overcame her, and she sunk lifeless upon the sofa.

  The Marchese, unwilling to call for assistance, made many fruitless attempts to recall her to life; and taking her into his arms, ventured to open the folds of her robe for freer respiration. Whilst he continued to support her, with his arm encircling her waist, anxiously gazing upon her colourless form, and impatiently awaiting the glow of animation which had formerly added such loveliness to her person, the string of brilliants, that was suspended round her neck, attracted his attention; and, not doubting but the portrait of Enrico was fastened to it, he snatched it hastily from her bosom, and starting, as if he had seen an apparition, let it fall involuntarily from his hand. A faint struggle now indicated returning life, and the Marchese taking immediate advantage of it, demanded how she had obtained the possession of that picture.

  "The picture, my Lord," replied Laurette, "what picture?"

  "That which was concealed in your bosom," returned the Marchese, sternly, "by whom was it delivered? Speak, I command you, instantly."

  "Alas! I know not," sighed Laurette, scarcely knowing what she had uttered; "it is the portrait of my mother."

  "The portrait of your mother," repeated the Marchese; "and who informed you that the Contessa della Caro was your mother—who has dared to utter such a falsehood? tell me this instant from whom you have received this intelligence, or expect the severest inflictions that rage and disappointment can suggest?"

  The deep and dreadful tones of his voice when ascending the climax of passion, so agitated and alarmed Laurette, that she relapsed into a state of insensibility, and the Marchese having employed many ineffectual means to restore her to life, was compelled to call for assistance.

  In this lifeless condition she was conducted to her apartment by one of the women of the castle, and, gradually reviving, retired to her bed. When she was alone, and began to meditate upon the Marchese, dislike arose into abhorrence; and though she felt that she must inevitably suffer, she trembled less for her own fate than for that of Enrico. If she persisted in refusing the hand of her persecutor, she knew there was nothing to be expected from his clemency. He had threatened to convey her to some remote and dreary solitude, where she was to be left, without pity, to all the horrors of her wayward destiny. To what place did he allude when he assured her, with menaces, that it was beyond the reach of her lover? The astonishment and terror that was delineated on his countenance, on the discovery of the picture, was also food for conjecture. He declared that it was the Contessa della Caro, but denied that it was her mother with a degree of vehemence which tended rather to frighten than convince. Unable to solve this inexplicable mystery, she endeavoured to find comfort in repose; but it was long before she was relieved by slumber from these harassing and tormenting apprehensions.

  CHAPTER IX

  Whither should I fly?

  I've done no harm! But I remember now

  I'm in this earthly world, where to do harm

  Is often laudable, to do good, sometimes

  Accounted dangerous folly; why then, alas!

  Do I put up this womanly defence

  To say I've done no harm? what mean

  These faces?

  -SHAKESPEARE

  Laurette arose with the first blush of early morning, and not daring to quit the apartment, sat pensively by the side of her bed, meditating upon a train of anticipated evils, which it was impossible either to conquer or dispel. The melancholy sensation which the conversation of the preceding evening had excited, having obtained a transient respite by repose, returned to her waking faculties with severer poignancy, and grief of the most corrosive nature overwhelmed her heart.

  Enrico, suffering for her offences, was incessantly presented to her tortured imagination. She perused his letter again and again, endeavouring, though without success, to inform herself of the occasion of his absence, and still more of his unaccountable silence.

  A strange and fatal presage told her they should meet no more; she pressed the paper to her bosom, sighed, and wetted it with her tears, and then breathing a prayer for his preservation, arose from the bed on which she had been sitting, and attempted, in the contemplation of the variegated scenery which was exhibited from her window, to abstract her thoughts from those agonizing reflections that could no longer be endured.

  The morning was chill, and the sun shot only a pale and uncertain ray, yet it was peaceful and serene; and as none of the inhabitants of the castle were visible, she descended into the balcony, and gazed upon the tranquil face of the heavens with a devout and tender emotion.

  "The season, like her fortunes, had fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf"; yet, though the glow of maturity was past, some remains of vegetation appeared groves of fir, laurel, and other evergreen shrubs, were thinly scattered upon the hills that enclosed the walls of the mansion, whilst the spires of distant convents, seen only from the woods when divested of their honours, added grandeur and beauty to the landscape.

  All was serene and gentle; yet tinged with the melancholy that assailed her bosom, all appeared desolate and mournful. With a pensive and dejected air she leaned over the rails of the balcony, endeavouring to find some single object that might fix her attention, and soften the acute pangs of piercing reflection; but the woods, the rocks, and the mountains were too familiar to her eye to have the wished-for effect, and, except the low warblings of the autumnal songsters, no sound, not even the pipe of the goatherd, broke upon the stillness of the morning.

  Finding no possibility of soothing herself into a transient forgetfulness of her present sorrows, or of softening the recollection of those hours now fled for ever—hours, in which she had enjoyed happiness as exquisite as pure, she yielded to the softness that oppressed her feelings, sometimes pronouncing the name of Enrico in accents so tremulous that she was scarcely conscious of having uttered it, and at others that of Madame Chamont, the amiable guide of her inexperience, whose ill-starred destiny she still severely, though secretly, lamented.

  Resolved not to quit her room without the express orders of the Marchese, she attempted to amuse herself with sketching some of the finest features of the landscape before her; but enervated by affliction, her trembling hand was unable to direct the pencil; she endeavoured to read, but her attention wandered from the subject, and she was finally compelled to resign every former source of gratification, because they had lost their accustomed power.

  The picture, which seemed to have led to some fatal discovery, still hung in her bosom. She often drew it from its place, and gazed mournfully upon the sweet expressive face, and having no doubt but it was her mother, and from what had involuntarily escaped the lips of the Marchese, that it was the Contessa della Caro, though he positively denied that it was the portrait of her unknown parent.

  But however the practice of guilt and hypocrisy may enable a man to wear the mask of falsehood so successfully as to deceive the greater part of the world, events for which he is totally unprepared, frequently, by their suddenness, may surprise him into confession. The language of nature is indelibly engraven on the human countenance, and however the slave of vice and insincerity may hope to seclude it from the eagle eye of Truth, there are moments when the mask of dissimulation will drop, and the unfortunate being who has taken refuge under so weak a subterfuge, if not totally abandoned to irremediable guilt, will be covered with the blushes of shame and dishonour.

  The Marchese, for the moment off his guard by his own inadvertency, betrayed a secret which the wealth of the world could not have wrested from him; for though his selfish love of pleasure was unbounded, and his schemes for the means of obtaining it were deep and unsearchable, reputation was the leading principle of his mind, the soul of his existence, and none but the immediate victims of his cruelty were thoroughly acquainted with his excesses.

  When Laur
ette considered the various inconsistences of the Marchese's conduct, her candid and inexperienced mind found it difficult to analyse his character: one moment he was solicitous to please, the next haughty and reserved; his countenance now beaming with tenderness, and lighted up by gaiety and animation; the next instant, if not meeting with that attentive regard which he considered as his due, darkened with anger, vexation, and disappointment.

  Had no prior attachment removed a marriage with so capricious a tyrant almost beyond the bounds of possibility, she would have instantly rejected him; for her mind was too pure and unambitious to barter the treasures of contentment for wealth or precedence, and to forsake the substance of happiness for the shadow; though she was too prudent to enter into a matrimonial engagement, even to save herself from the present evils of her destiny, till there appeared a probability of effecting it without involving the object of her tenderest attachment in new and severe difficulties.

  Laurette had remained the greater part of the day alone in her apartment, without receiving any orders to leave it; in which time no one intruded upon her retirement, except the servant who conveyed her food, of whom she ventured to enquire if the Marchese was below, and whether any thing had been mentioned relative to herself.

  The young woman informed her, with many symptoms of compassion, that her Lord had been, for the last half hour, in private conversation with Paoli; that his thoughts seemed to be employed on some important concern, as he scarce partook of a morsel at dinner, and as soon as it was removed, called again for his steward, in whose society he had spent some hours in the morning, and whose presence appeared more than usually necessary.

  Conceiving herself to be the subject of their discourse, Laurette answered only with a sigh; and not doubting but that some new misery was preparing for her, endeavoured to arm her mind with a sufficient portion of fortitude to sustain it with serenity.

  Next to the hated marriage with which she had been threatened, nothing seemed so dreadful to her terrified imagination as a removal, without the knowledge of Enrico, to a remote and dreary solitude; yet more than ever convinced, that if she persisted in her resolution of rejecting his proposals, this, or some other situation not less hopeless, would be selected for her, she once half resolved to attempt an escape from the castle, and to endeavour to gain admission into a convent; but the little chance of success which this method of proceeding offered to maturer reflection, prevented her from putting it into practice. Could she be so fortunate as to elude the vigilance of her haughty protector, the Argus-eyed Paoli would detect her design before it was carried into execution; and even was it possible that she should so far succeed as to gain some religious retirement, few Superiors, she feared, were sufficiently disinterested to receive a poor unpatronized female, however unhappy her situation, without a friend to speak in her behalf, or the possession of any property by which she might be enabled to pay for her maintenance. And was she to throw herself upon the compassion of strangers, of an humbler rank of life, who would dare to admit her, and much less to harbour her, when the danger of incurring the displeasure of the Marchese would be the price of their hospitality? And even should any one be so blind to their immediate interests as to listen to the soft pleadings of humanity, could she, wrapped in temporary security, act so inconsistently with her own exalted sentiments, as to expose such benevolence and refined generosity to his unbridled resentment?

  These considerations determined her to abandon the design, and to wait with humility for the interposition of Providence in her behalf, in whom, she had been taught early, to place an unlimited reliance.

  "Why do I tremble at the future," cried the beautiful sufferer, with that firmness and dignity inseparable from true greatness, "when I know that there is an Omnipotent Power who governs the world with wisdom and equity, and who frequently turns the dark designs of the wicked from their original bias, to the advantage of oppressed and unrepining innocence.

  "Forgive me, holy Saint," resumed she, falling meekly upon her knees before a small image of Saint Rosalie, "forgive me if I have dared to murmur; and Oh! infuse into my heart that pure and heavenly virtue which taught thee to endure calamity with patience, and even with transport. Shall I presumptuously repine when I look around, and, in the narrow sphere of my observation, see others suffering the extreme of misery, and expect exemption from the common lot of mortality?—No, let me rather endeavour to fortify my mind with those invaluable principles of religion which were instilled into my heart, from the earliest period of my existence, by my first and dearest friend. And may I, as the only proof of gratitude I am enabled to bestow, cherish her inestimable precepts as much as I revere her memory! and if she is already released from the shackles of mortality, and is become the companion of angels, may she look down with compassion upon her adopted child, strengthen her weak resolves, and lead her, by secret inspiration, to that excelling and unassuming piety which dignified her character!"

  With a mind elevated above the narrow boundaries of the earth, Laurette arose from her knees, and walked again towards the lattice. The day was still fine, and her feelings being somewhat tranquillized with these meek effusions of devotion, she surveyed the placid face of Nature with a sensation of pleasure.

  Knowing that the Marchese, when in secret conference with his steward, frequently remained some hours in his closet, she resolved to descend, by a private stair-case, and, if she was fortunate enough to escape unobserved, to amuse herself with a ramble through the grounds.

  Having executed her purpose unperceived by all, except the lower order of domestics, she bent her steps towards the pavilion, and entering the banqueting-room, seated herself upon a small settee that was placed under a canopy.

  Every thing remained the same as when she left it last, which was on the morning when she parted with Enrico. The Marchese and the Signora had been there in the interval, but nothing appeared to have been displaced. The leaves of music still lay scattered upon the table, the lute lay neglected upon a corner of the sofa, and her imagination could have almost portrayed the form of Enrico sitting pensively in the place which he had so recently occupied. His looks, his words, his attitudes, returned with all their pathetic interest to her memory, and connected his idea with more than usual tenderness.

  Till the moment when she was taught to feel the most dreadful apprehensions for his safety, she was not wholly acquainted with the extent of her attachment; she had deluded herself into the suggestion, that she loved him only with the affection of a sister, as the companion of her infantile felicities, and as the son of her maternal friend. But now that danger was suspended over his head, which threatened finally to crush him, she acknowledged a warmer and more tender sentiment in his favour.

  Unable to continue long in a place, rendered too interesting by sadly pleasing recollections, she reached the extent of the building, and found in the apartment, beyond the room of state that she had quitted, a small pocket volume of Italian miscellanies, which she remembered to have seen in the hand of Enrico on the morning preceding his departure. She opened it with an emotion of joy, and as his name, which was inserted in the blank leaf, met her eye, resolved to avail herself of what she esteemed an inestimable treasure, by securing it in her pocket.

  Afraid of being observed if she remained longer in her present situation, she would have retreated by the way she had entered, but voices approaching the pavilion prevented her design; and, before she had time to recover from the breathless agitation of spirits this unexpected incident occasioned, she distinguished the tones of the Marchese, and soon afterwards those of Paoli.

  Alarmed lest they should enter the apartment she occupied, and her inadvertency by these means expose her to new evils, she endeavoured gently to open the door leading into the shrubbery, in the hope that she might be able to secret herself among the trees, till an opportunity offered to favour an escape. But it was locked, and the key being removed, she was compelled to remain in the pavilion carefully avoiding any noise which mi
ght lead to detection.

  Though Laurette could not descend to the meanness of voluntarily overhearing conversation supposed to be private, there being only a thin partition wall between the room she had chosen, and that occupied by the Marchese, it could not easily be prevented, and she was obliged, however reluctantly, to submit to what appeared unavoidable.

  When apparently in the most earnest discourse, they spoke low, as if afraid of being overheard, though unconscious that any one was near; and some disjointed sentences, which seemed to be of dreadful import, were occasionally communicated to her ear.

  Soon afterwards she heard her own name hesitatingly pronounced, followed by Enrico's; and curiosity triumphing over the nicer feelings of her mind, directed her involuntarily towards the door.

  A short silence succeeded, which was at length broken by Paoli, who uttered something in a low key which she could not clearly understand, and then exalting his voice, he added—"You are well aware, my Lord, of the necessity of this measure; why then do you hesitate to adopt the only possible means of ensuring you safety and reputation? Some discovery fatal to your peace has been made—her silence, as well as her indifference, confirms the justice of the suspicion; she is treacherous, my Lord, and every thing is to be feared from the artifice of a designing woman. That softness of character, which she assumes at discretion, is it not worn as a veil to conceal the blackness of her intentions? and is happiness to be obtained in a state of continual fear?"

  "To what would you advise me?" replied the Marchese, in a voice agitated with contending passion; "have I not already given orders for her removal; to what further would you urge me?"